


AU-gust 2020

by thangam



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blushing Steve Rogers, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Domestic Avengers, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Engagement, Established Relationship, First Meetings, Fluff, Gay Bucky Barnes, Getting Together, M/M, Non-Serum Steve Rogers/Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes | Shrinkyclinks, POV Steve Rogers, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark is a good boyfriend, and its the cutest thing, and thinck dark rimmed glasses, period, steve wears sweater vests, train ride au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:21:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 16,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25651285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thangam/pseuds/thangam
Summary: 31 drabbles for the month of AUgust! You can send prompts to my tumblr @thxngam, any au, any pairing.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Tony Stark, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 14
Kudos: 64





	1. #23, meeting on a train ride au, stucky

**Author's Note:**

> hmu on tumblr [@thxngam](https://thxngam.tumblr.com/)!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve despises train rides, always has and always will, but he thanks his lucky stars above for Hot Guy.

**St** eve hates the train. It makes his back hurt, the people only get weirder and weirder, and, because of NYC, the station only gets crowder and crowder. Penn Station will forever give him nightmares, and it’s almost not worth braving it to get onto the train to see his Mama. She’d moved, out of the smoggy, polluted air of Brooklyn for the sake of her aging lungs, and Steve’s thrilled that she’s happy and healthy…but he hates the annual train station trip. 

Quite possibly the only bright side of this trip is The Man–very hot, Steve would like to add–that Steve keeps making eye contact with for every weirdo who boarded the train. Since Steve had gotten on, there had been a group of men dressed as Mario characters (if Steve wasn’t currently enamored by Hot Guy, he’d totally bang Princess Peach), a yeti, a man dressed up like a tomato, 1 guy holding onto the train with a plunger even though seats weren’t that full, an entire pitbull inside a woman’s tote, and, currently, the grumpiest old lady dressed like an angel. The man cocked an eyebrow at Steve. ‘Guardian Angel?’ he mouthed. 

Steve shrugged helplessly. 'If that’s my guardian angel, I’m fucked,’ he mouthed back. The man looked confused. Steve hesitated, and when the man cocked his head like a lost puppy, he scooched over on his seat and patted the space next to him. He had been saving the space for the last three stops, and everyone on the train was giving him dirty looks, but this time if Steve got sick from sitting next to a hot stranger and ended up in the hospital, it would’ve been worth it. 'Sit here?’ he mouthed. The hot stranger’s face lit up and–fuck that was a good sight. 

He quickly made his way over to the seat adjacent to Steve’s. “Bucky,” the man introduced. Before Steve could even respond he knew that he was going to hear that voice inside his dreams for at least months. His mama had always said he had too big a heart, and let too many people in too fast, but with a look like that, and a voice that put the nameless kaleidoscope face of the man in his wet dreams to shame, Steve couldn’t even be blamed. 

(Except by Sam. Sam was gonna call him a stupid white boy no matter what he did. Steve has made his peace with that.) 

“Steve,” Steve said, cursing the way his voice wobbled. “Steve Rogers." 

Bucky’s eyebrows shot up. "Rogers?" 

Steve tilted his head. "What’s that to you?" 

"No-I mean-Steve Rogers? Like the artist?" 

Steve sighed. "Yep. That’s me." 

Bucky’s smile would put angels to shame. "My sister loves your work. And I don’t know a thing about art, but looking at you makes me want to.” He winked shamelessly. “I’d be into getting to know you." 

Steve blinked. "Are you–flirting with me?" 

Bucky looked unhindered. "Tryin’ to, doll." 

And-

Steve quite liked being Bucky’s doll. He felt his pale face flush. "Well. I gotta say this the first time I’ve been flirted on because of my art. Also-” he hesitated. “I draw landscapes and other naked people. Not me naked. Why are you flirting with me?” He hated to say it. “‘Cause I gotta tell you, I don’t look at all like the people I draw.”

“I dunno ‘bout that; you’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever saw on this train.” 

“There’s been an entire, fully grown man dressed in a Teletubbies suit on this train. The standards aren’t high, Buck.” 

“And you’re a drink of water in a desert,” Bucky promised. 

Steve’s mouth parted, and he licked his lips self-conciously. “That’s-oh.” 

Bucky’s hand landed on his knee and squeezed. “My sister, Becca–she loves you by the way and will actually murder me if I don’t get your autograph, she’s an art student–dragged me to some conference thing in Jersey-”

Steve’s nose crinkled in time with Bucky’s. 

“-and I was bored, I didn’t get anything or the "deeper meaning” of a whole bunch of squares or whatever,“ he rolled his eyes. Steve ducked his head and smiled, pushing up the bulky rims of his glasses. Steve saw Bucky smirk at him from the corner of his eye. "But then I saw your work.”

"The Lovers,” Steve recalled. He was still proud of it. It was two men leaning on each other at a bay window at an unidentifiable time of day as rain pounded the window. “I was lonely, I think when I made that.” He smiled ruefully. “It’s a little hard to maintain a relationship when you never leave your house for work." 

Bucky’s arm came around his shoulders, his bulk dwarfing Steve’s slight frame. Steve looked up. Bucky smiled slowly. "I get it,” he said gently. Steve leaned hesitantly on Bucky. He froze, and Steve cursed, bracing himself for a hasty retreat and an awkward goodbye–was he pushing it?

Bucky’s hand tightened on Steve’s shoulder. “I’m an app developer, and I work from home more often than not. I’m at home all the time too." 

Steve’s lips quirked up. "That’s cool,” he said honestly. “I was never interested in the science-y stuff personally, but it looks so cool from a distance." 

Bucky barked a laugh. "yeah, that’s about it. Mostly it’s a lot of squinting and cursing and coffee chugging. Or whiskey. But then I saw you, at the conference, and I’ve let my sister drag me to every art show within the state in hopes of seeing you. And then I see you here.”

“You saw my ass in suit pants and then traipsed around the state for it?” 

“No, I saw you speak about never seeing gay lovers or anything other than heteronormative art in museums, and that you were painting for every child who thought they were abnormal. I traipsed after that.” 

Steve–well Steve didn’t know what to say to that. He burned pink and fiddled with the rims of his glasses hopelessly, racking his brain for anything to say other than ‘oh’. “I–I don’t know what to say to that.” 

Bucky smiled at him fondly. Steve found himself smiling back. 

"I don’t get off for another two hours,” Bucky said instead. “Rockville.” 

“Rockville?” That was Steve’s stop. “My mother lives there; I’m actually going to visit her.” 

If Steve had ovaries, they’d be exploding at Bucky’s smile. “That’s lovely,” he said, laughing. “I guess we’ll see each other there?” He sounded hesitant for the first time of their exchange. “How’s dinner sound?” 

Steve smiled, and, reaching out on a limb, pecked Bucky’s cheek. Bucky’s hand reached up to slowly cup his own cheek, right over where Steve had kissed him. “My mama would love to meet you, and she makes the best damn soda bread I’ve ever had.”

“Your Ma?” Bucky settled back in his seat. Steve couldn’t help but smile like a dork. "Is that an invitation to meet the parents, dollface?" 

Steve leaned wholeheartedly against his bulk. "Depends. Are you gonna say yes?” 

Bucky snorted and pressed a kiss to his hair in affection that mimicked an old married couple more than it did two people who just met. “You damn well know I am.”


	2. #18, waking up with amnesia, stony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But, anyway, he gave in by mashed potatoes. By the third time Steve winced while chewing, Tony’s fork has clattered to the table and his eyebrow almost hurts from how high it is. “Steve,” he groans. “Cmon. You have to see a dentist soon!”

The catalyst is mashed potatoes, of all things. 

Well, no. Technically, it all starts when Steve gets whacked in the face with...something. Honestly, Tony doesn’t even know. He’s failed to get a straight answer out of every single damn person in the building but the point remains; something is wrong in Steve‘s face. Either a tooth got knocked loose, or something got embedded into his jaw, whatever. But since that sparring session, Steve has winced through everything that involves so much as moving his jaw. It started okay, at least to a supersoldier pain tolerance, but when Steve started wincing at eating a mushy banana, one that was basically the consistency of baby food since nobody else in the tower was willing to eat that gross a fruit-

Tony has decided that he is going to be on Steve’s ass about his tooth, and he is not going to get off it until Steve mans up and goes to medical. 

And it’s a little hypocritical, Tony making Steve go to medical, but they all have their flaws, and also, besides the fact that his soulmate was in pain and Tony hurt for him, Tony will not have his wedding kiss marred by Steve wincing at every pass of his mouth. 

But, anyway, he gave in by mashed potatoes. By the third time Steve winced while chewing, Tony’s fork has clattered to the table and his eyebrow almost hurts from how high it is. “Steve,” he groans. “Cmon. You have to see a dentist soon!”

Steve looked resolute. “No, Tony,” he grouches. “I’m fine see?” He took a scoop of mashed potatoes and chewed exaggeratedly. He still couldn’t hide his wince. “See? I’m eating just fine.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “You’re wincing eating  _ mashed potatoes _ , Steve,” he pointed out and circled the table to settle in Steve‘s lap. Steve‘s hands coming up to grip his hips. “Please.”

Steve stayed stuff for only a second before going limp against the back of his seat. “I’m sorry,” he groaned. “I just-the whirring, and the seat, and I can hear the stupid drill—not to mention I don’t want to be awake while they poke holes in my teeth.” He rolled his eyes and Tony pressed a kiss to his nose apologetically. 

“We have anesthesia?” 

“Laughing gas doesn’t really work, doll. And I’m fine with lots of things, but I draw the line at drills and hammers in my mouth.”

Tony sighed. “Well, if you go to the dentist and  _ if _ they say you need surgery and  _ if _ they say that it warrants knocking someone out—not just you, depends on if they would do it to anyone else—then I will break out the supersoldier/hulk anesthesia, you big baby. Promise.” 

“The supersoldier anesthesia?” Steve repeated. “You mean the one we’re used when a building fell on me? That one? For a toothache?”

“Yes, Steve, that one.” Tony huffed. God, the audacity and  _ ridiculousness _ of his man. Tony tangled his fingers in Steve‘s hair. “Which I’m still mad about, by the way.”

Steve‘s mouth quirked up, even though Tony was trying to stay stern. “So when you do dumb—“

“We are talking about you and the dentist, don’t bring me into this,” Tony said curtly, reluctantly smiling when Steve pressed a sweet kiss to his mouth. “Steve,” he tried. 

“Sh,” Steve soothes. “Can’t I love on my fiancé a little?”

Tony lets himself be bent back, melting into his mouth when—

Steve winces. 

_ Jesus Christ _ . Tony presses a hand to Steve‘s jaw and brushed the furrow of Steve’s brow. He was fine with entering a burning building on the _ off chance _ there was a cat inside, despite the family saying it had likely left because the little boy was crying, but he wouldn’t go to get his own damn tooth checked out. He could be so irrational about the strangest things, but Tony tried not to let that get to him. He had his things, and Steve had his things. “You’re going to the dentist,” he said.

Steve wilts, eyes begging. Tony refuses to be swayed. “You’re going to a dentist.” 

“I’m going to the dentist,” Steve repeats miserably. 

It’s hard to be smug when Steve looks like a kicked puppy. 

...

“Hi, honey,” Tony said gently, peeking open the door to Steve’s medical room. “Steve?” 

“D’n c’min,” Steve slurred from inside the medical room, where he’s doped up on so many drug that it’s a miracle he’s still awake. “No-on’l ma-ma h’sband s’pposed to be’en herre.” 

Sam snorted behind him. 

“Honey, I am your husband. Fiance. Whatever,” Tony said, amused. 

“B-but y’re na’ T’ny.” 

“I am Tony!” Tony can’t help but giggle. He doesn’t get to see Steve drunk very often, not unless Thor shows up with the Asgardian mead that gets them all regretting existence the next morning, and he missed dumb Steve. “I’m coming in.” 

“No!” 

Steve sounds so vehement that Tony’s hand hesitates on the doorknob. Behind him, Sam’s laugh tapers off into concern. 

“Honey, are you okay?” 

“I-I nee’ T’ny.” 

“Oh my God.” Sam looked a moment away from busting a gut. “Tony, I’m opening the door.” 

Sam reached over and opened the door for him despite Tony’s hiss, and there, Steve sat on the edge of the bed, swaying precautiously, his shirt half-open. Sam snorted, peeking over the top of his head. “Drugged up, tits out.” 

Tony reached behind him and swatted at Sam, smiling at his exaggerated  _ oof _ . “Honey? What are you doin’?” 

Steve pouted. “Wh’re o’?” 

Tony felt taken aback. “Honey? I’m Tony?” 

Steve looked confused. “No, y’re n’t.”

“Holy shit, I’m taking out my phone,” Sam mutters but Tony país no heed. 

“Yeah I am,” Tony said, reaching forward to take Steve’s hand. Steve stared at it like it was a foreign object. “Baby-?”

Steve frowned. “I d’nno who’re are?”

“Oh boy,” Tony muttered and tries to smile reassuringly at Steve. This was a new reaction, and try as he might, he couldn’t help but feel laughter bubbling in his chest like he was a shaken bottle of soda about to explode. “What do you mean, honey? I am Tony, dunno how to prove it to you.”

Steve pouted. “No, yre nah.” His eyes started to well with tears. Tony suspected there were tears in Sam’s eyes, but for an entirely different reason. “”I wan’-I wan’ ma h’sban’. His n’me ‘s Tony, an’ he so pr’tty.” He quieted; Tony waited avidly to hear what he’d say next. Steve stayed silent, and Tony started to lean forward to check if he was still awake—

“And he s’ str’ng, an-an—“

Never mind. 

Tony’s neck flushed red, both in embarrassment and in pleasure. It was-sweet, in a way, that Steve was so doped up that the only thing he could think of was Tony, but mostly, he was concerned that Steve was literally losing all of his metaphorical marbles. 

“Woah, hey man,” Sam barked, and Steve was tipping forward, eyes glazed. “Steve, you awake?”

Steve blinked sleepily. “No,” he said dazedly, and then his head was lolling. 

“Should we get him to sleep? Or call a nurse?” Tony rubbed at the reactor, fingers drumming anxiously. 

“Nah,” Sam said, looking mildly concerned, but still halfway-gleeful. “The nurse did say that he might be a little odd on the anesthetic.” 

“Oh,” Tony said, scratching his jaw, as his other hand gently pushed Steve back onto the bed so he could sleep some of the effects of the drugs running through his system off until he was safe—to himself, mostly; he was like a helpless kitten more than a soldier at this point—“She did?”

“Man, you and Steve are perfect for each other,” Sam complained. “Like two year olds with directions.”

“I st’l dunno wh’re y’re?” Steve slurred. 

Tony leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to Steve’s wrinkled brow. “Don’t worry about it,” he said softly. “Sam took a video for you anyway.”

“No kiss,” Steve whined, pressing his swollen face to the pillow. “‘Ly T’ny s’ppos’ k’ss.”

“Okay, baby,” Tony sighed. He turned expectantly to Sam. “Well?”

“We’re playing the damn video at your wedding.”

...

Later, after ten replayings of the same shaky StarkPhone video, Steve has not moved from the couch. 

“Honey,” Tony started, perching at the end of the couch. “It’s okay.”

“I didn’t know who you were!” Steve moaned. 

“Well you did, really,” Tony pointed out, and feels a flash of remorse when Steve just buried his head further into the pillow. “Jesus.”

“I hate you. Was the video necessary?”

“Sam took it!”

“And you let him?!”

“...”

“I was on drugs!” Steve defends weakly.

He laughed helplessly, rubs aching in protest. 

“Tony,” he whines. 

Tony snickers and tugs Steve close. “Cmere and kiss me again, idiot.”


	3. #10, popular jock/nerd kid, winteriron

Tony scowled from under his jacket. Bucky just smiled. “What’re you frownin’ at, sweetheart?” 

Tony’s frown deepened. “You know damn well what, Barnes.” 

Aw, shit. “Sweetheart,” Bucky tried, tugging Tony’s slight form to his bulk as they cowered under the awning of a thrift store, Bucky’s varsity jacket over Tony’s shoulders like a sore thumb in the grayscale background of the rainy boardwalk. “I know, I’m sorry. I should’ve checked the weather.” 

Tony frowned up at him, nose crinkled. “You think that’s what I’m mad about?”

“Well,” Bucky hedged, rubbing his hand over Tony’s stomach absently. Tony wiped at his glasses. “I really should’ve checked the weather, and you’ve been a grump since we’ve been under here–”

Tony rolled his eyes, droplets still clinging to his lashes behind the thick frames of Tony’s bulky–adorable–glasses. “You moron, that’s not it. It’s not your fault, and besides, the weather report is wrong half the time anyway.” 

“Okay, then what’s wrong, darlin’?” Bucky pressed his lips to Tony’s temple, breathing in the scent of his shampoo and traces of garlic that still clung to him after passing through the market. “Talk to me.” 

“I’m annoyed that our evening is ruined,” Tony mumbled, turning in his arms and burrowing into them, the frames of his glasses bumping Bucky’s generous pecs and his fluffy head of hair tucked under his chin. He peeked back, resting his chin on Bucky’s sternum. “We haven’t gone on a proper date in weeks, Buck.” 

Ah. 

Tony was right, they hadn’t gotten to spend time with each other outside of the rest of the football team or the decathlon team with them. And the football team was rowdy, a bunch of guys yelling and cheering, and more often than not, whacking at each other, and while the decathlon team was definitely made up of more people who valued words more than thumps on the back, they were equally chatty. 

“Oh, Tony,” Bucky’s heart sank at the disappointed tears in Tony’s eyes. “Sweetheart.” He looked around before tugging Tony into the, at least, warm air inside of the thrift store. “We can still do something together! I like spending time with you more than I like the ferris wheel. Doesn’t matter,” Bucky promised. “What do you think?” 

“I like spending time with you too,” Tony mumbled, embarrassed. 

“Okay, then. Kiss me?” 

Tony’s smile made his heart give an alarming ba-bump. Tony leaned up, like a little kitten waiting for pets, pursing his lips. Bucky laughed, dipping him down and smiling into Tony’s mouth when he giggled.

Bucky pulled Tony back up and turned. “Now, c’mon, let’s see if there’s anything in here.” 

“There’s nothing in this dump that I would dare put on my booty-licious body-” Tony started, shrieking when Bucky dumped a poncho over his head. “Bucky!”

“C’mon, princess,” Bucky said, snorting. “Let’s see if there’s anything for me, then.” 

Tony sniffed primly. He fingered a leather jacket though, as he breezed through the aisles. 

“Somethin’ you like?” Bucky asked, smiling privately when Tony gave him an offended look. “Sweetheart, c’mon.” 

Tony glared. “No.” 

Bucky sighed. So stubborn, but Bucky liked it. “Alright, doll.” 

Tony gave in about ten minutes later when the rain slows to a pitter-patter on the roof, sagging against Bucky’s arm against his waist. “Fine, it’s not a dump,” he grunted, turning away when Bucky can’t help but press an excited kiss to Tony’s cheek. “No,” Tony whined, and then yelped with laughter as Bucky dug his fingers into Tony’s sensitive side. “Bucky!”

“What is it, doll? What do you want?” 

“More like what I want on you,” Tony said snidely once Bucky removes his fingers, pushing his glasses up on his nose. “You’re sure?” 

“Absolutely.” 

“I, uh. There was a leather jacket that I thought would look good?” 

“I know what you’re talkin’ about,” Bucky teased, and went back to get it as Tony watched the rain slow from the storefront window. He looks so pretty, Bucky thought as he came back, jacket obediently clutched in his metal hand. The sun shone in Tony’s hair, and he looks enraptured by a group of birds, bobbling their way back down the street. He settled behind him silently, tugging Tony into his arms quietly. “I love you,” he muttered into Tony’s hair. Tony doesn’t say anything, but his hand goes to rest over Bucky’s and squeeze, chest pushing out on a shuddering exhale. 

“Put the jacket on, Buckaroo,” Tony said instead, turning away and pressing a butter-soft kiss to Bucky’s cheek. 

Jacket on, Bucky gave a slow turn, smirking when Tony looks absolutely enamored. “You like?” 

“The team’ll make fun of you,” Tony warned. 

Bucky ruffled his hair. “When have I ever cared about what they think?” 

…

When Bucky walked into school the next day, the blinding smile Tony gave him is more than enough to make up for the ribbing the team gives him. 

…

“And that’s how you got the jacket?” Morgan asks dubiously as he tucks her into bed. “‘Cause Daddy liked it?” 

Bucky pressed a kiss to her forehead and smooths the covers as he reaches to turn her bedside lamp off. “Morguna, if it was gonna make daddy happy, I would’ve gone and fetched the moon for him. Wearing a leather jacket–a nice one too–didn’t even strike on the radar.” 

“Even if the school made fun of you?” 

Bucky rolls his eyes and gently pokes Morgan’s eyelid as they droop. “Everyone loved me anyway,” he says confidently. “And your daddy is worth all that, anyway.” 

“Okay, papa.” Morgan’s voice is faint as sleep gently tugs her into its arms.


	4. anon, love at first sight au, stony

Steve can admit he used to think that love at first sight was a load of bull, though he’d never use that language in public. His advisors are well aware of how he’d rolled his eyes amusedly at every gush from Bucky about Sam, and how pretty he was, and how soft his eyes were, and how kissable his mouth was-

Bleh. 

But, now, at the doe-eyed, trembling peasant in front of him, he can understand. Oh  _ Goddess _ , does he understand. 

“M-My Pr-Prince, I’m so so sorry, I swear I didn’t mean to, I’m so clumsy—“ 

“Sh,” Steve murmurs. “It’s alright. What’s your name, dear?”

The peasant looks confused but latches onto the opportunity of changing the topic with both hands. “A-Anthony, your Majesty.” He looks down, embarrassed. “But most people call me Tony.”

“Well, Tony,” Steve grazes the side of Tony’s cheek brazenly. “I swear I’ve never seen someone so lovely as you in this lawn. I think I’d remember that.” He lets a smile flirt around the edges of his mouth as his insides turn to jelly at Tony’s soft gaze and angel’s mouth. “How have I had the privilege of meeting you?” 

Tony’s cheeks flush, and his hair goes to cover his forehead as he dips his head. “I-I’m new here...my mother and I just moved here when I got the maid job...”

“I see,” Steve hums, and Tony steps forward hesitantly. “And how is everyone treating you?”

Tony hesitates before opening his mouth, and Steve wonders what he must be thinking of to wait to answer a simple question. “I--I must say you’re the best person I’ve met here,” Tony admits, mouth quirking. “Looking like you do, how could you not be?” 

Well. That’s certainly not what he was expecting. 

Steve’s eyebrow flicks upwards at bold words. “Well then,” he steps forward and pressed a feathers touch of a kiss to Tony’s soft cheek, his beard leaving faint marks. Tony’s hand comes to cup his own cheek as if possessed. “Would you like to join me for tea?”

Tony brightens, but he seems to dim just as quickly. “I’d love to, Sir, b-but...pardon me for being so bold, but is it not proper, for someone of your status to receive tea with someone like me?” 

Steve hums and lets his hand gently rest over the curve of Tony’s little waist, cinched tight in breeches that look handed down. “You don’t worry about that, doll.” 

Tony tips his head to look at him, looking like a flower seeking the sun. “That’s not a no,” he points out. 

Steve laughs. “No, it was not.” 

...

“You’re a lot less scary in person,” Tony says idly as he nibbles off the edge of Steve’s biscuit. He’d looked so plaintive at the sweet between Steve’s fingers that Steve couldn’t help but give in with a sigh and hand it to Tony. But now, Steve doesn’t care so much about the biscuit as how much he cares about how Tony’s eyes light up at the sweetness and how his tongue comes out to lick the crumbs off his bottom lip.

“Is that so, little flower?” 

“My very first day, I saw you shouting at Mr. Sitwell, and I swear, I have never been so intimidated.”

Steve smirks. “Just intimidated?”

“Well,” Tony turns scarlet and squirms unthinkingly in his seat. “Not just intimidated.” 

Steve leans forward, gently tugging one of Tony’s curls around his calloused, thick fingers, the strands soft against hands made to be hard. “That’s adorable,” he croons. “But someone so sweet as you should never be frightened.” 

Tony leans into his hand, and Steve goes to cup his soft cheek, still rounded slightly. “That’s sweet of you to say,” Tony looks inexplicably mischievous. “I don’t suppose you get scared.” 

“There’s not very much in this gilded palace that frightens me,” Steve says cautiously. “What are you planning, little flower?” 

“Nothing at all, my Prince. A servant should never speak of his employers’ personal matters.” Tony smiles cheekily. “But, if, say, his employer would scream like a little child at the sight of a scorpion in his clothes, a servant might laugh a little. Use a few liberties.” 

What--

Oh. 

Steve remembers what Tony’s talking about with  _ vivid  _ detail. 

“Minx,” Steve means to chide, but it doesn’t come out as anything but fond. “Shame on you.” 

“Of course,” Tony giggles, looking gleeful, but wilts when he catches sight of the window. “Oh my. I’m afraid I must be going,” he says sorrowfully. 

Steve sighs when he catches where the sun is in the sky. He really should be going too. “Little flower,” he croons, and Tony rises respectfully. He looks nervous, and rightfully. If someone caught them like this, he’d likely lose his job as a measly servant, but-

Steve has a remedy for that. 

“There’s an opening to be my secretary,” Steve says carefully, searching Tony’s face. “Can you read? And write?”

Tony brightens like the sun has come out, warming his petals. “I can!” he bounces on his toes. “And my penmanship is most lovely, I assure you.” Tony reaches in his pockets, withdrawing with a scrap of paper. And he’s right, it really is the loveliest looping cursive. “My mother used to make me sit at the dinner table and practice my letters until the candle would run out and my fingers had gotten pins and needles.”

“Sounds like mine,” Steve says honestly. Sarah had made him do the same thing, but she’s had the luxury of having multiple candles to spare for the prince’s studies. “And it is most lovely, Tony.”

Tony cocks his head then. “Does that mean I have the job?” He sounds respectful, almost curious, but Steve can see the unbridled hope in Tony’s eyes, lashes fluttering anxiously against his cheeks. 

Steve smiles and strokes his hand down Tony’s back boldly. Tony almost chokes on his spit, but he sidles forward. “I’d love nothing more,” he says formally. 

Tony doesn’t say anything, but Steve’s predictions were right--

Tony’s lips are as soft as the rest of him against Steve’s own. 


	5. #2, childhood best friends au, stony

Sam takes a long drag of his beer. “So, remind me, Romeo and Juliet, how’d you two meet?”

…

Steve met the love of his life on a Saturday, in the park near his house. Of course, he didn’t know that he’d met the person who’ll change his life for the better by virtue of being just seven, but Steve, then and now, likes to think he knows lots. 

But it starts like this. 

Steve ventures cautiously into the depths of the playground, awkwardly hanging around the poles that hold up the other screaming kids. He looks around for someone to play with hopefully, but after his last encounter with the boys at this playground and the subsequent hospital trip for the lump on his head, he’s understandably wary. At least he thinks it’s understandable. His mom had been kind about it, but even as he’d stomped his foot (like a baby, he thinks, wincing. he’s _not_ a baby) she’d ushered him out of the house and left to go talk to someone from work with nothing more than a kiss on the top of his head and a squeeze. 

But then he sees a dark head of hair sitting alone, morose, it’s like a lightbulb goes off in his head. Like _Einstein_. Or is it Edison-

-The point is that he’s a genius. 

The woodchips crunch under his light-up sneakers like a crowd cheering him on when he goes to talk to the other boy. “Hi!” Steve says brightly, smiling his nicest smile; the one that makes even Ms. Redford get him extra cookies from the pretty jar she has in her pantry. His smile only widens when the other boy looks up at him, looking confused. “My name’s Steve. I’m seven, and I like the color blue, and I think bullies are the _worst_. Worser than broccoli. What’s your name?”

The other boy giggles, and he’s missing a tooth just like Steve is! Now they _have_ to be friends. 

“My name’s Tony,” he says shyly. “And I’m five, an’ I don’t like bullies either.” He looks considering. “But I like red more than blue, though blue is pretty cool.”

“That’s okay,” Steve says and offers a hand to Tony. Right then, he’s decided that Tony’s his friend, now. That means he’s got to protect him. And have fun. “Do you want to play with me?” 

…

And then they’re two peas in a pod, but admittedly, it all comes to make sense in high school. At least that’s the way Tony tells the story; Steve says that he had fallen in love with Tony before he’d even known what love was. Tony never says anything to it, but the small smile that’s always on his face after it says more than their vows had, anyway. But still, back to the story. 

“Steve?” Tony asks quietly, bumping Steve’s bulky arm. Steve’s put weight on, muscle on, and he’s no longer the skinny beanpole he was as a child, but Steve will be the first to admit he’s never lost the scrappy attitude.

Steve and Tony hardly fit in the same creaky bed that anymore, but it doesn’t stop them from trying. If they had their way, to Maria and Sarah’s exasperation, they’d share a head and a heart and a soul. “Are you awake?” 

“I dunno why you ask that,” Steve laughs softly. “If I didn’t respond you’d shake me until I was awake.” 

Tony huffs. “See if I ever initiate a conversation again.” 

“Big baby. But-“ Steve sighs. “What were you saying, Tony?” He ruffles Tony’s hair, curling around him until they fit together like two spoons. 

“Do you think we’ll always be friends?” 

Steve blinks. “Of course, Tony.”

“Oh,” Tony says. His breathing ruffles Steve’s shirt. “Like, even after we graduate?” 

“Is this about you going to MIT, Tony?” 

“Well, we don’t know yet, Steve. And besides, I’m applying for the internship, not as a student,” Tony hedges softly, before burying his face in Steve’s chest. “But yeah.”

“Well, if you get the internship, you said they’d probably consider you in the fall after our senior year.” Steve laughs self-deprecatingly. “You could be going to MIT as a student this fall if you wanted to anyway.” Sometimes it keeps him up at night, where Tony could be if Steve hadn’t trailed stubbornly behind him, holding him down.

“I’m not leaving you,” Tony says stubbornly. “Not for MIT, not for Dad, not for anything. You’re my friend. And besides,” he says wryly. “I have the same amount of social skills as a rock. Mom says I’ll choke and traumatize myself if I go to college now. Nor do I want to leave my best friend. How am I supposed to make ketchup art with anyone but you?”

And isn’t that kinda the problem? What idiot goes and falls in love with their best friend?

“I’m holding you back-” 

“No, you’re not! You’re the reason-you and Sarah-that me and mom even got out of Dad’s house. If anything, you pulled me forward.”

“We didn’t do anything,” Steve murmurs, pressing his face to Tony’s still damp hair, letting himself wobble on the edge of just friends as he presses a kiss to Tony’s hair. “You got yourselves out.” 

“You enabled us to get out, Steve.”

A beat’s silence. 

“Time is flying by so fast.” Tony’s fingers tighten on Steve’s shirt and even though the dark keeps Steve from seeing Tony’s face, Steve knows that he’s worrying his lip. “Out junior year starts soon, and you’ll be off to-some fancy art school across the country. I know you’ve been looking at that art school in California, and I’m so happy for you, I am-” 

“Actually,” Steve bites his bottom lip. “If you go to MIT-which I know you are, don’t even try, it’s your dream school-I’ve been thinking about RISD.”

“RISD?” Tony’s wrinkling his nose, Steve just knows it. “That sounds like an STI.” 

Steve snorts. “Be glad nobody else heard you say that,” he says, laughing, rolling on his back. “RISD is the Rhode Island School of Design, Tony. It’s one of the best art schools in the country, and firms pick students up straight from school to design things or get them access to their studios or agents. It-It’s the same caliber as the California school too.” 

“I-” Tony sits up. The moon illuminates only half of his face. “You-what?” 

“I checked,” Steve says nervously. “And it’s only an hour and a half by train. I could visit you or you could visit me on weekends, Tones.” 

“You-you’d do that for me?”

“No,” Steve wraps his hands around Tony’s delicate wrists. They’re small, bony but strong, and, for reasons Steve can’t explain, remind him of a bird; ready to fly away, to move far and wide for everyone to hear his song. “I’d do it for _us_.” 

Tony goes to straddle him, and Steve can’t say he thinks anything of it, they’re touchy-feely friends and he’s always read too much into things, but when Tony leans down so that he’s nothing more than a hair’s breadth away, Steve feels a terrifying spark of something _good_ in his chest. 

“Tell me if I’m reading this wrong,” Tony says quietly and licks his lips before pressing his lips against Steve’s. 

… 

“I’m sorry, you two got together while sharing a bed at Steve’s house? And your parents were okay with that?” Sam looks so offended.

“It’s not like one of us was going to get pregnant, Sam.” Tony rolls his eyes, his ring glinting as he props his chin on his hand. “And yes, we did.”

“Forget it, Sam,” Bucky says, pressing a kiss to Sam’s cheek as Sam stares incredulously. “They’re like straight out of a rom-com.”


	6. Day 6: #2, childhood best friends au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve meets the love of his life on a Saturday.

Steve meets the love of his life on a Saturday, in the park near his house. Of course, he doesn’t know that he’s met the man who’ll change his life for the better being just seven, but Steve likes to think he knows lots. 

But it starts like this. 

Steve ventures cautiously into the depths of the playground, awkwardly hanging around the poles that hold up the other screaming kids. He looks around for someone to play with hopefully, but after his last encounter with the boys at this playground and the subsequent hospital trip for the lump on his head, he’s understandably wary. At least he thinks its understandable. His mom had been kind about it, but even as he’d stomped his foot (like a baby, he thinks, wincing. he’s  _ not  _ a baby) she’d ushered him out of the house and left to go talk to someone from work with nothing more than a kiss on the top of his head and a squeeze. 

But then he sees a dark head of hair sitting alone, morose, it's like a lightbulb goes off in his head. Like  _ Einstein _ . Or is it Edison-

-The point is that he’s a genius. 

The woodchips crunch under his light-up sneakers like a crowd cheering him on when he goes to talk to the other boy. “Hi!” Steve says brightly, smiling his nicest smile; the one that makes even Ms. Redford get him extra cookies from the pretty jar she has in her pantry. His smile only widens when the other boy looks up at him, looking confused. “My name’s Steve. I’m seven, and I like the color blue, and I think bullies are the  _ worst _ . Worser than broccoli. What’s your name.”

The other boy giggles, and he’s missing a tooth just like Steve is! Now they  _ have _ to be friends. 

“My name’s Tony,” he says shyly. “And I’m five, an’ I don’t like bullies either.” He looks considering. “But I like red more than blue, though blue is pretty cool.”

“That’s okay,” Steve says and offers a hand to Tony. Right then, he’s decided that Tony’s his friend, now. That means he’s got to protect him. And have fun. “Do you want to play with me?” 

…

And then they’re two peas in a pod, but admittedly, it all comes to make sense in high school. At least that’s the way Tony tells the story; Steve says that he had fallen in love with Tony before he’d even known what love was. Tony never says anything to it, but the small smile that’s always on his face after it says more than their vows had, anyway. But still, back to the story. 

“Steve?” Tony asks quietly, bumping Steve’s bulky arm. Steve’s put weight on, muscle on, and he’s no longer the skinny beanpole he was as a child, but Steve will be the first to admit he's never lost the scrappy attitude, like he’d ever had something to make up for. 

Steve and Tony hardly fit in the same creaky bed that anymore, but it doesn’t stop them from trying. If they had their way, to Maria and Sarah’s exasperation, they’d share a head and a heart and a  _ soul _ . “Are you awake?” 

“I dunno why you ask that,” Steve laughs softly. “If I didn’t respond you’d shake me until I was awake.” 

Tony huffs. “See if I ever initiate a conversation again.” 

“Big baby. But-“ Steve sighs. “What were you saying, Tony?” He ruffles Tony’s hair, curling around him until they fit together like two spoons. 

“Do you think we’ll always be friends?” 

Steve blinks. “Of course, Tony.”

“Oh,” Tony says. His breathing ruffles Steve’s shirt. “Like, even after we graduate?” 

“Is this about you going to MIT, Tony?” 

“Well, we don’t know yet, Steve. And besides, I’m applying for the internship, not as a student,” Tony hedges softly, before burying his face in Steve’s chest. “But yeah.”

“Well, if you get the internship, you said they’d probably consider you in the fall after our senior year.” Steve laughs self-deprecatingly. “You could be going to MIT as a student this fall if you wanted to anyway.” Sometimes it keeps him up at night, where Tony could be if Steve hadn’t trailed stubbornly behind him, holding him down.

“I’m not leaving you,” Tony says stubbornly. “Not for MIT, not for Dad, not for anything. You’re my friend. And besides,” he says wryly. “I have the same amount of social skills as a rock. Mom says I’ll choke and traumatize myself if I go to college now. Nor do I want to leave my best friend. How am I supposed to make ketchup art with anyone but you?”

And isn’t that kinda the problem? What idiot goes and falls in love with their best friend?

“I’m holding you back-” 

“No you’re not! You’re the reason-you and Sarah-that me and mom even got out of Dad’s house. If anything, you pulled me forward.”

“We didn’t do anything,” Steve murmurs, pressing his face to Tony’s still damp hair, letting himself wobble on the edge of just friends as he presses a kiss to Tony’s hair. “You got yourselves out.” 

“You enabled us to get out, Steve.”

A beat’s silence. 

“Time is flying by so fast.” Tony’s fingers tighten on Steve’s shirt and even though the dark keeps Steve from seeing Tony’s face, Steve knows that he’s worrying his lip. “Out junior year starts soon, and you’ll be off to-some fancy art school across the country. I know you’ve been looking at that art school in California, and I’m so happy for you, I am-” 

“Actually,” Steve bites his bottom lip. “If you go to MIT-which I know you are, don’t even try, it’s your dream school-I’ve been thinking about RISD.”

“RISD?” Tony’s wrinkling his nose, Steve just knows it. “That sounds like an STI.” 

Steve snorts. “Be glad nobody else heard you say that,” he says, laughing, rolling on his back. “RISD is the Rhode Island School of Design, Tony. It’s one of the best art schools in the country, and firms pick students up straight from school to design things or get them access to their studios or agents. It-It’s the same caliber as the California school too.” 

“I-” Tony sits up. The moon illuminates only half of his face. “You-what?” 

“I checked,” Steve says nervously. “But it’s only an hour and a half by train. I could visit you or you could visit me on weekends, Tones.” 

“You-you’d do that for me?”

“No,” Steve wraps his hands around Tony’s delicate wrists. They’re small, frail, and, for reasons Steve can’t explain, remind him of a bird; ready to fly away, to move far and wide for everyone to hear his song. “I’d do it for  _ us _ .” 

Tony goes to straddle him, and Steve can’t say he thinks anything of it, they’re touchy-feely friends and he’s always read too much into things, but when Tony leans down so that he’s nothing more than a hair’s breadth away, Steve feels a terrifying spark of something in his chest. 

“Tell me if I’m reading this wrong,” Tony says quietly and licks his lips before pressing his lips against Steve’s. 

… 

“You too got together while sharing a bed at Steve’s house? And your parents were okay with that?”

“It’s not like one of us was going to get pregnant, Sam.” Tony rolls his eyes, his ring glinting as he props his chin on his hand. “And yes, we did.”

“Forget it Sam,” Bucky says, pressing a kiss to Sam’s cheek as Sam stares incredulously. “They’re like straight out of a rom-com.”


	7. Day 7: #34, meeting at a masquerade ball au

“But, ma, I don’t understand why I have to go-“ Steve refused to admit he was pouting, even as a sneaky part of his brain admitted he probably was. How unseemly. 

“You complain that every omega we set you up to meet with is vain and fake and only about the looks, Steven.” Sarah’s tone is no-nonsense and inspires not just a flicker of fear. 

“So?” Steve sighed, rubbing his face over his jaw. “What does that have to do with a masquerade?”

“It’s precisely why it’s a masquerade, Steven. Talk. Mingle. Maybe you’ll find someone with a kindred spirit, and you’ll know they aren’t just in it for your physical form, darling and they’ll know you aren’t either.” Sarah smiles at him in sympathy and cups his cheek. Steve rests his cheek on her palm. “It’ll be alright.” 

“What if when they find out it’s me, they run in the opposite direction,” Steve argues weakly. It was a done deal before Sarah had even come to him, and Steve supposes he should be mad about his courtiers conspiring with his mother to get him a mate, but all Sarah has ever wanted was the best for him. Which is why it’s hard for him to believe that she wanted him to go to a masquerade ball. Parties like these were never anything but a ridiculously enlarged ceremony of who had their head in the sand the most. “What then?” 

“We all have eyes, Steven. I’ll admit I raised an attractive son,” Sarah chides. “There’s not an omega in this kingdom that can’t at least admit you are an objectively handsome man.” 

Steve blushes. “There’s nothing objective about that,” he sighs, taking his mother’s elbow and grudgingly escorting her to the dining hall. “But alright.” 

…

Bucky hates to admit it, but he’s only going to this party to meet an alpha. He’s of prime marrying age, even a little past it—sue him, his parents didn’t want him to be married as a child—and he’s lonely. He loves his friends, he loves his sisters and his home, but he’s an omega and they all instinctually need contact, crave it in fact. 

And that’s why he’s so pleased when he meets a tall, sweet, charming, man. Admittedly, Bucky can hardly remember how they’d bumped into each other, but sitting down now with him he can’t bring himself to worry about his past. 

Now, he’s thinking about his future, hopefully plus one blond alpha. 

“My sweet,” the man murmurs. “A piece of heaven right here in m-this kingdom. And you have somehow chosen to stay with me.”

Bucky blushes. “I-am I to your liking? Alpha?”

The man groans, a positively indecent sound. “Darling, if I can not have you tonight, I will spend the rest of my days a cursed man,” he vows. Bucky hesitates before interlacing his hands with the other’s calloused ones, rubbing pleasantly against soft skin. 

“That’s very sweet,” Bucky whispers. He’d gone into this hoping to play coy, to tease, but he finds that he’s fallen headfirst into a honey glazed trap with no intention of climbing out. The man cups his cheek. Bucky tilts his head to inhale along his scent glands almost unconsciously. The rumble that runs through the man’s body leaves Bucky squirming in his seat. 

“I-you can call me Bucky,” he says quietly, hoping the noise that elicits is one of happiness, not scandal. 

“Hasn’t anyone taught you the rules of a masquerade, my darling?” The man teases before his voice lowers. “And I am honored that you should trust me with this, sweetheart.”

“So, will you tell me your name?”

The man hesitated. Bucky almost wiggles in his seat like a child waiting for sweets. “No,” he says finally, and Bucky muffles—badly, if the curve of the man’s plush mouth indicates anything—a whine into the man’s palm before pulling away to pout. “Don’t whine, little one, I think I quite like you guessing.”

Bucky huffs. “Well then, tell me at least something else about yourself. Do you like these parties?”

The man sighs heavily. “Not so much before I met you,” he admits. “They are nothing but a measuring contest of…” he trails off, glancing at him with electric blue eyes that look startlingly familiar now that he’s closer before looking back away. He tugs Bucky closer, and Bucky enjoys the possessiveness of this alpha. Never straying far from entirely polite, but brushing the line of courting. 

“Of what?” Bucky asks, before giggling as the man trails his fingers up his arm teasingly, twitching at the teasing glance to his scent glands. “Wealth?” 

“No,” the man says amusedly. “Of who has their heads the furthest in the sand.”

Bucky snorts. “You can say that again.” Bucky eyes the doors to the garden outside. He quite likes this man and judging by the fact that he met him at this party, his parents will approve. But first, he needs to know who he is. Every omega in the kingdom knows who to avoid, and while he can’t remember any tall, blond alphas on the list, he still needs to make sure he’s not being buttered up and that this alpha won’t simply go searching for a new omega once he’s gotten bored. “Shall we take a walk?” Bucky asks hopefully. “I could use some fresh air.” 

“Fresh air, hm?” The man extends his arm. “Lead the way, my dear.” 

The night air is cool, and Bucky shivers. The man tugs him closer, closer than can be called proprietary, and Bucky--carefully, cautiously--leans his head on the man’s shoulders. “Do I get to know your name now that nobody else is here, my lord?” 

“Hm, I don’t know,” the man murmurs. “I quite like your indignance.” 

“If you don’t tell me your name I’m going to come up with something ridiculous,” Bucy threatens playfully. The fine embroidery of the man’s coat scratches his arm. 

“Like what?”

“You tell me, Eldritch,” he shoots back, enjoying the man’s wince. 

“Eldritch?” 

“I can do worse, Leland.” 

The man settles on the bench next to him and Bucky enjoys the piney scent of satisfied alpha. “I’m afraid you’ll know my name as soon as I take this mask off, my dear.” 

“So take it off?” Bucky asks hopefully and then sighs. “You can’t be so dense as to not see that-that-” he flushes embarrassedly, ducking his head. “I-” 

“Sh, my darling,” the man croons, and then there’s a huff. “Has anybody ever told you you’re stubborn?”

“Only all the time,” Bucky quips, and his fingers curl unconsciously around his bracelet; it was a tick he’d had ever since he was a boy. 

“You have to promise not to start bowing,” the man warns as he reaches for, presumably, the clasp of his mask. “Bucky.” 

“Someone thinks highly of themselves.” Bucky smiles. “But of course.”

The mask seems to come off in slow motion, and Bucky can’t decide if he’s excited or anxious. He’d hate for the man to turn out to be a creep. Pretty blond eyebrows reveal themselves to him first before the mask is dropping into the man’s lap and revealing no one but the highest royalty of the Rogers Kingdom; His Majesty the King, Steven Grant Rogers. Bucky chokes on his own spit and nearly topples to the ground to curtsy before the King’s warm hand is coming to wrap around his bicep. 

“You promised no bowing.” the man’s-Steve? King Rogers? His Majesty’s-voice is hoarse. “Please.” 

“I-” 

“I know it’s a lot.” 

“That’s an understatement if I ever heard one,” Bucky says without thinking and then flinches. “I mean-” 

“You’re right.” King Rogers scrubs his hand over his jaw and looks--and Bucky might be projecting his personal desires a tad--hopefully at Bucky. Bucky softens a little. He was sweet, and kind, and Bucky will admit that he’s had an attraction to this King from afar since he understood the dynamic of the other presentation. It’s just--nothing’s holding him back but himself. 

“Your Majesty,” Bucky starts, not knowing where to end. 

“Steve,” the alpha murmurs, and he scoots forward, somehow graceful on a small bench embedded in a wall of bushes. “You call me Steve, darling.” 

“Darling?” Bucky could hardly breathe. “Am I your darling?” 

Steve grazes his knuckles over the side of his cheek, reaching behind him until his mask topples into his lap; a lover’s touch. Bucky’s lips part on a shaky sigh. “You are the sweetest flower, the loveliest blossom. The Gods have blessed me with you, sweetheart. And it would be my utmost honor if you’d allow me to court you.” 

Bucky’s chest is tingling. “It isn’t proper,” he says, not above a whisper. The moonlight seems to brighten on Steve’s face. “But would you kiss me?” 

The snarl that erupts out of Steve is nothing less than possessive, than an alpha claiming his omega, and his lips are pressing urgently against Bucky’s, prying his lips open and clutching Bucky to his chest. Bucky grips at Steve’s doublet. 

Improper, indeed. 


	8. Day 8: #1, soulmate au

Children receive their first soulmate drawing at 12. Of course there are late bloomers and people who get it early, but Steve has been on time to just about every damn thing in his life and he’s not about to start now. 

His first soulmate drawing is an appointment for a counselors meeting during science class. Steve, as a child had stalked the counselor’s office for a month before he’d finally been shooed away. Since then, the appointment dates haven’t stopped, and to Steve’s eternal disappointment, there’s never anything specific enough for him to finally track down his other half. 

Steve has never written anything in his arm. His soulmate seems like a busy person, so Steve does his best to brighten his day and fills his own arm with flowers and doggos that he sees on his daily commute to his tattoo parlor. And if he gets strange looks from his most imposing, almost frightening, customers, so be it. 

Seeing the new flowers and animals appear on Bucky’s arm every morning is the best part of his day. His coworkers have always known when he’d had something especially cute on his arm, and he’s sure the children who see him every day know too. 

“Nurse Bucky’s in love,” Darcy will always whisper.

“Nurse Darcy needs a life,” he’s whispered back. 

Bucky regrets that he can’t offer his soulmate anything even close to the artwork that shows up on his arm, sticking to plain ol’ appointments, hoping that his soulmate will meet him there. So far nothing, but Bucky’s an optimist at heart. It’s somewhat ridiculous, that the soulmate drawing specifically stop you from writing anything close to a location (nobody knows how it doesn’t work or what stops it. if Bucky didn’t love pediatrics as much as he did, he’d study soulmates. How romantic, to study how humans  _ needed  _ each other so much that nature found a way for them to always have a piece on hand.), but Bucky holds hope. Unless his soulmate is in another country and doesn’t understand a word of his writing. He doesn’t know what he’ll do then. 

…

The first time in a million years that Bucky goes to Starbucks is not supposed to be as eventful of a day as it is. 

Bucky doesn’t pride himself on his observance; his mother said he paid attention to as much as what happened two feet in front of him. Though it’s an exaggeration, Bucky doesn’t think it’s  _ completely _ a bad thing. He excels at his job because of it at least. So when he missing his very own chicken scratch on the tattooed man who walks into the cafe, Bucky can’t say it’s out of character. 

Fortunately for him, his soulmate seems to see him before he does, likely in part to the bright colors that wrap from his lean bicep to his finger. 

“Soulmate?”

Bucky looks up, and up, and up. It’s a massive blond, at least half a foot taller than he was and much, much broader. “I-what?”

The man’s face cracks into the most gorgeous smile Bucky’s ever seen. “You have terrible handwriting, you know that?”

Bucky looks down at his arm and then looks up. Down. Up. Down and up. “I-“ he shakes his head, feeling a smile hurt his face. But it’s the best kind of hurt. “You're my soulmate,” he finishes, almost giddy with joy. No, forget  _ almost _ -he absolutely  _ was _ giddy with it. 

“Honey, you’re the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” the man murmurs. Bucky flushes right down to his toes. 

“Cute?”

“I like your sweater,” the man says. Bucky flushes fiercer when he realizes what he’s wearing. It’s a fluffy sweater perfectly suited to cold New York air, a soft blue that Becca said  _ screamed _ ‘bottom’. Bucky was—despite his humiliation—somewhat glad it did, because he’d let his soulmate plow him through a bed any day of the week. 

“Thank you,” he says weakly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name-?”

“Steve,” the man introduces and wraps an arm around Bucky's waist. He tugs him closer. “But you can call me whatever you want, honey.”

“I’m Bucky.” Bucky swallowed, feeling the muscles of Steve’s arm flex and bunch through the fabric of his sweater from how tight Steve’s gripping him. “I, um, like your drawings. They were the best part of my day,” he admits. “And I have odd hours so. It was nice to see something cute and bright after a long shift and several errands.”

“Yeah, you sure seem busy,” Steve drawls, seeming to watch avidly. Bucky swallows thickly as his soulmate’s—Steve!! He’s here!!—Adam’s apple bobs. “Appointments, huh?”

He nods. “I’m a nurse,” he manages, licking his lips almost nervously. “And the hospital I work at is understaffed so my shifts are always changing. I have to plan everything around them and I don’t have a schedule for anything since it always changes. Hence,” Bucky whines softly when Steve crowds him further against the table, audience ignored. “Th-the writing.”

“Happy noise or sad noise?” Steve asks when Bucky tilts his head up shakily, nose crinkling. 

“Happy,” Bucky whispers as Steve bends his head down to nothing but a hair's breadth from Bucky's lips. “Very, very happy.”

The noise he makes when Steve finally touches their lips together is more than just _happy_. 


	9. Day 9: anon, tangled au

Tony doesn’t like his tower. Of course, he’s made his schedule and Obie seems pleased enough to get him the tools he needs for the general upkeep and improvement of his tower, and he couldn’t be more grateful, but he longs for the out. It looks absolutely _magical_ from here, and Tony wants, more than he’s ever wanted in his life, to know if it feels and smells and sounds as magical as it looks.

(He hopes so. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if it’s not.) 

So far, he’s readied himself for everything he needs; he’s got a satchel full of his nicest, most comfy breeches, a small knife, a canteen full of water, and all the food he could stuff into a bag and also carry. It’s somewhat of a long trek to the city and the castle at its edge, but Tony likes to think he’ll walk through fire for just a taste of freedom. 

Obie says he’s being unrealistic, and that there are souls waiting for someone kind like him to prey on and attack--Tony shudders to even think about it--and that he was as naive as a child. But...he turns 18 in two days. He’s not a child. And besides, what’s learning without hands-on experience? The only thing he’s missing is a guide. 

Fortunately, it’s like fate hears him and sends him help. 

Tony was just finishing up his final touches to the pulley that’ll take him down to the ground when Obie comes rattling up the side of the tower, held by--something. Tony doesn’t know what exactly or he’d’ve taken advantage by now, but he does know it’s Obie’s way to get himself in and out--and to keep Tony stuck.

“Obie?” Tony calls curiously when there’s no shout. Obie did love an entrance, and he’d always,  _ always, _ shown up with something grand to announce. “Are you--”

It’s a man. It’s a tall man, with a curious satchel to his side and a striking metal arm. The stranger doesn’t seem to realize he’s there. “Al--”

_ Thump! _

Well, he certainly falls to the ground like a human. 

...

The man wakes sluggishly, but when he seems to have his wits about him, he doesn’t seem to... _ do _ what a human would do. “Hey,” the man says. “The name’s Bucky Barnes.” Tony flushes down the neckline of his nightgown. 

Tony’s not going to wait to play games. “Who the hell are you? And  _ what  _ are you doing in my tower?” 

The man--Bucky?--sighs. “Alright, I was running from some guys for reasons I refuse to disclose, and I saw this super convenient tower and I climbed it. If anything, it’s your fault.” Tony stares, as if any of that made sense. 

“My fault?” 

“Okay, maybe not,” Bucky gives. He sighs. “Now, instead of any of this hostage shit, you can untie me and me and my sa—“ he pauses. When he speaks again his voice is frantic and up at least a few notes. “Where is my satchel. Where.”

Tony crosses his arm. “I’ve hidden it,” he says smugly. “Somewhere you’ll never find it.”

Bucky looks to the side. “It’s in the pot isn’t it?” he asks flatly. 

It’s a little telling that knocking him out a second time is as pleasurable as the first time. 

…

“ _ Now _ I’ve hidden it,” Tony says. “And you’ll get it back when you do  _ me _ something.” 

Bucky stares at him for a long moment before he sighs irritably in the seat. “Fine. What do you want?”

“I want you to take me to the city and see the floating lights.”

“Floating lights?” Bucky answers his own question. “Right the lantern thing they do on the prince’s birthday. What’s that gotta do with you?”

“I just,” Tony scrubs his hand over his face. “I just-I  _ need _ to know. I need to know what it’s like. It’s like—something is calling me there, and it’s so loud I can hardly hear myself.”

Bucky stares dubiously. “You want to take me to take you to the city to see the lanterns and bring you back-“

“Safely,” Tony adds. 

“Okay, bring you back safely. And then you’ll give me back my satchel?”

“Yes.” Tony gives him a half smile. “But first, I want to know why you are here. Did you-“ he circles Bucky slowly. “Hurt someone?” He brandished the pan, and Jarvis scrambles onto Bucky’s shoulder, hissing. “Did you...vandalize something?” He pauses, pan dipping. “Did you kill someone?” His eyes widen in horror. “Are you here to kill me?!”

“No! Why would I want to kill you? What on Earth would I want to kill you for?” Bucky squints suspiciously, aghast. “Have you done something worth killing for?”

Well that’s not where he was expecting this to go. “No! I haven’t-I’ve never left this tower before in my life,” he admits. 

“You’ve never left,” Bucky repeats flatly. “Never. Never ever.”

Tony shakes his head. “It’s to keep me safe. Obie-Obie said that people outside would love to hurt someone like me, and I’m too naive and silly to stop.”

“Well,” Bucky says, and his voice is oddly kind. “I don’t think you’re silly or naive.”

Tony smiles halfheartedly. “I tied you to a chair, what do you care?”

“That’s the point, doll. You reacted to a threat quickly and efficiently  _ and _ secured the threat. That’s a skill that most grown men still don’t have.”

“I’m not silly?” Tony’s voice is smaller than he wants it to be. 

“Not really, princess. I don’t know this-this Obie person is, but he’s wrong about you.”

Tony sniffs and wipes his nose. “Princess?”

“Y’know.” Bucky gestures to his whole being tucked into a soft red dress, his feet bare. Tony knows there are flowers in his hair. He refuses to be ashamed about it. There is nothing wrong with taking delight at life’s softer pleasures; there’s not so many in a tower. Tony is going to live his life the way he wants to live his life, and he refuses to listen to a somewhat haughty man with a man bun tied to a chair, despite how kind he’d just been.“You look like a fairy. Harmless.” Bucky still winks infuriatingly. “Adorable.” 

“Adorable?” Tony puts his hand on his hip and cocks one eyebrow. “Who brained you and tied you to a chair?” He doesn’t wait for a response, feeling emboldened. “Oh right, the fairy.” 

“Brained?” Bucky sounds miffed, and Tony feels a spark of tenuous pleasure at the annoyed yet lighthearted bantering. He’d always been too scared to joke with Obie. “Really, princess?” 

“It’s true,” Tony retorts before brandishing the frying pan at him again. “Do we have a deal or not?” 

Bucky sighs heavily. “Sure we do princess. Now shake on it?” 

“With what space? Your hands are tied up.” 

Bucky’s grin is shit-eating. “You’re gonna haf’ to let me go eventually.” 

...

Tony watches Bucky grunt as he goes down the stairs. “Alright princess,” Bucky shouts. “Your turn to climb down. Just take it slow--WHAT THE FUCK.” 

Tony shouts all the way down, clutching the rope and the pulley as Jarvis clutches to the straps of his dress like his life depends on it. Well, he is the size of Tony’s palm. It sort of did. The wind rushes through his hair, and the roar is the most satisfying noise he’s every before-wait. He stops nothing but a bare whisper to the ground. It’s--frightening to be so close yet so far and yet Tony can’t bring himself to articulate his fears. 

“Well?” Bucky’s voice is unexpectedly soft. “You can do it.” 

It’s soft, is Tony’s first thought. His toes wiggle. It’s also very green. 

And then it all seems to come rushing out of him, spilling like an overflowing bucket in a graceless torrent. 

“Bucky! It’s so soft!” His thumbs rub over the blades of grass like they were more precious than any of the jewelry Obie had gifted him. His anklet clinks as he taps his feet excitedly. He doesn’t know why he was so scared just a moment ago. In hindsight, even if it hurt like a thousand tiny knives, it would’ve been the best thing ever because of the  _ lack  _ of cobblestone. Tony has never been so glad to not see something handmade. “It’s so green!”

“I know doll,” Bucky drawls. “I’ll wait until you’re done touchin’ grass though.” 

Tony can’t even bring himself to be miffed at his lovely new tour guide’s attitude and bounces on bare feet towards--towards--

Tony doesn’t know, and that fierce unknowing makes him happier than being  _ safe  _ ever could. 

Unbeknownst to him, the hard lines of Bucky’s face soften the slightest bit. 


	10. Day 10: #37, meeting in prison au

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk if this is what you ment and that they’d both be inmates but I literally couldn’t think of anything that Tony would be in jail for other than the Obadiah-under the tables thing, and I really didn’t want to do that. I hope you like!

“I-” Bucky hesitates to ruin his future again, but he knows better than to string someone along while he’s done some bad shit. He apparently doesn’t know enough to know when he’s being set up, but he won’t treat Tony like that. He won’t. “Do you know why I’m in...prison?” Prison feels less harsh than jail for some reason, but it doesn’t hide that Bucky had done something bad to be here. Why he was in a class to get his GED and learn how to plan his future in a jail instead of a seminar while he cooked dinner in some perfect suburban home like most people his age. 

“Yes,” Tony says simply. He hops up onto his desk. Bucky’s fingers itch to cradle Tony in his worn palms. “I know, James. I’m told when someone applies to my class.” 

“Oh.” Bucky’s fingers dig into his palms. “Then-” he trails off. He doesn’t really know what to say to that. He’s tied to a gang from the worst part of the city and yet Tong looks at him with the kindest eyes he’s ever seen. “They let you in here with me?”

“They don’t let serial killers into rooms with a man who’s got the same muscle mass as a preteen. You won’t hurt me.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Bucky laughs, certain disbelief was etched into his eyes. He isn’t sure if the disbelief is just at Tony’s wry humor or how Tony hadn’t scowled at him and given him scraps when he’d found out what Bucky has done from the beginning. Tony’s sweet. Tony’s kind. Bucky’s not. Yet-

Tony waves his arm floppily. “I’ve got noodle arms, Bucky!”

He snorts reluctantly. 

Tony sniffs indignantly. “But I’m allowed to talk to you. I have to be with a guard and outside bars when I speak to convicted murderers.”

“You teach serial killers?” Bucky says in disbelief. “Sweetheart-” 

“Not your sweetheart, Bucko.” 

Bucky’s heart drops to his feet, bleeding out on the floor and staining Tony’s converse. 

“Yet.” Tony winks. Bucky finally feels the air in his lungs. “They seem so lonely, and most of those people are in for life, or nearly. They deserve to speak to someone, even if they don’t care at all about reading or a high school education. I don’t even mind them yelling.”

Bucky snarls. The thought of someone shouting at the only man who’d accepted him with open arms and believed, unconditionally, that Bucky had hope...oh, it made his blood boil. “They yell-“

“Ba-ba-ba-ba-ba. slow down there tiger.” Tony’s finger comes to rest at his lip. 

Bucky sags, shaking his head. “I’m sorry.”

Tony’s hands are smooth and soft against his bicep and up to his shoulder. “You’re doing better.”

“I shouldn’t be snarling at you,” Bucky says tiredly. Sometimes he just-he just-he can’t. And no matter how many times Jeanette says that trauma and mental illness is an ongoing, uphill battle, it doesn’t ever feel like he’ll be able to think like a rational human being instead of a rabid dog. 

“Hey,” Tony’s voice is sharper than he’s ever heard it. “You’re not a dog. And you’re certainly not rabid.” Tony smiles kindly at him. “You’re so much better than when I first saw you, alright? I’m willing to stand by your side so much as you want to get better, and I’ve seen you throw yourself into rehab, Buck. I’m proud of you, not mad.”

“You’re a better man than most people are,” Bucky murmurs, taking a hesitant step. He can’t imagine anyone else saying what Tony had just said without being cheesy and overdramatized, but coming from him it just sounds real. Tony widens his stance, beckoning Bucky into the space between his knees. 

“I know what you’re in for, and I know when you got in, and I know what you did. You didn’t deserve to take the fall-or maybe you did. Doesn’t matter to me. You were a child when you got in. I can’t judge you for the brainwashing you dealt with as a child.”

“I wasn’t a good kid.” 

“Still a kid,” Tony quips. “You served your sentence, and besides, you stole some art from a few rich people; while it’s not a good thing, and you should be sorry, but I’m not going to hate you for the actions of a rebellious teenager and efforts to turn you against the world and leave you wholly dependent on them so you won’t ever leave.” 

Bucky raises one eyebrow even though it’s the truth. 

“I do know how mobs work, James.” Tony’s hands come to squeeze. “Now, if you come to me with this ‘I don’t deserve you’ bullshit again, I’ll--” 

Bucky grins, tugging Tony forward by the waist and leaning their foreheads against one another. That was as good as a yes. “You called me Bucky.”

“I most certainly did not,” Tony retorts playfully, squeaking when Bucky dug his fingers into his side. “Bucky!”

“Yes you did, sugar,” Bucky laughs, pinching Tony’s cheek when he makes a disgruntled face. “Oh, don’t pout.” 

Tony turns his head to the side stubbornly, but Bucky follows, resolute. His determination to follow people to the ends of the Earth blindly might’ve been his downfall once, but the sun has come out and he can see where the shadows had lurked. 

Bucky presses his nose to Tony’s soft hair. “Sweetheart,” he starts, fingers flexing on Tony’s soft t-shirt. “Can I kiss you?” 

Tony’s silent for a moment, and Bucky’s heartbeat begins to pick up before he hears the softest, “Please.” 

Tony mewls softly against his mouth, clutching his shoulders. Bucky used to hate his tattoos and how harsh they’d looked compared to Tony soft form, even from a distance, but he’ll admit he’s starting to love the contrast of a sleeve of tattoos against the blush rising on the apples of Tony’s cheeks. 


	11. Day 11: #22, two miserable people at a wedding au

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sure this isn’t what you thought of but...oh well lol. Hope you like!

“I hate her.”

“Doll,” Bucky tries. 

“Nope,” Steve says, popping the p. “I hate her, I have always hated her, and I don’t know why we invited her in the first place.”

Bucky says nothing. 

“See, even you, sweet tongue, don’t like her.”

“Sweet tongue?” Bucky asks amusedly, pressing a kiss behind his ear, grazing his newly marked up bond mark with his teeth. Steve shivers, mewling softly, soft enough that nobody should hear it. Bucky tugs him closer possessively anyway. “You sure do like the things I can do with it.”

Steve smacks his arm, scandalized. “Stop it,” he hisses, sure his Irish complexion is giving him away. “Your grandparents are here.  _ My _ grandparents are here.”

Bucky laughs, but his smile falters when he presses his nose to Steve’s neck in retaliation. “Sweetie,” Bucky starts cautiously. Steve hates that tone of voice. “How are you feeling?”

Steve shrugs, even though it is a little listless. Truth be told, he’s not having such a great time. His wedding is supposed to be filled with magic and joy and being surrounded by the people he loves, but mostly it’s filled with people from high school that Steve is regretting inviting and his snobby extended family. Even his mother looks a little withdrawn, though her face lights up like a Christmas Tree whenever she catches sight of him. “Fine.”

“Fine is not such a great thing to be feeling on someone’s wedding day,” Bucky murmurs, softly mouthing at his bond mark. Though everyone is giving them a wide berth, Steve flushes at the PDA. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

“It’s-it’s,” Steve’s humiliated to say tears are pricking his eyes. “We spent so much in wedding planning, and-and it’s too hot, and half the people here are so-so backhanded that I wish I could kick them out and I can’t get drunk on my meds and honestly I’m too tired to even  _ think _ about consummating our marriage—“

“Baby, baby,” Bucky coos. Steve adores him for trying to console him. “Sh, sweetheart.”

“Sorry, and I know it’s supposed to be a magical experience for you and I just  _ ruined  _ it—“

“Baby, you didn’t ruin anything.”

Steve hiccups. He pauses. Bucky doesn’t lie to him. “I didn’t?”

“No! Aw baby. The only part of this wedding that I was really looking forward to was the part where I got to put a ring on you and let the whole world know that I have loved you since I knew what love was and that I was never going to stop. The rest was just extra, formalities.” Bucky looks so adoring, so soft and sweet that Steve can’t help but kiss him, chaste but loving. 

Steve wipes his eyes. “I liked the ceremony,” he does say, stroking a hand over Bucky’s shoulder, fingering his suit idly. “I liked that I could profess my love to you and cry all I wanted and nobody would think it was ever anything but cute.”

Bucky snorts and runs his thumbs purposefully over Steve’s scent glands. “I liked that too. You looked beautiful.” Bucky has an expression of far-away, though it happened not hours ago. “The most beautiful person I have ever seen.” 

Bucky’s fingers curl teasingly against the most sensitive part of his anatomy, and Steve can’t decide whether or not he wants to press closer to Bucky’s fingers on his neck or away, thoroughly distracted. Steve whimpers, glaring weakly, albeit thorough half-lidded eyes. “Stop,” he whines. “You’re gonna make me drop to my knees in front of my mom. Jerk.”

Bucky reluctantly drops his hand, curling it around Steve’s thin waist. “But it’s okay if you’re miserable here, sweetie. The ceremony was the only important thing, and even then it was more a legal, formal thing, ain’t it? You and I are mates. You have my mark on you, and I have yours on me. We got nothing to prove to anyone else about  _ us _ , you understand?”

“Yeah, but...I don’t want to be miserable  _ now _ ,” Steve says quietly. And honestly, that upsets him more than anything. “It’s supposed to be the happiest day in my life and I’m crying in a corner.”

Bucky shrugs. “Sure. Things don’t always turn out the way we expect.”

Steve hates that it helps. 

“Why don’t we go?”

Steve blinks. “We can’t just leave.”

“Why not? Everyone else’ll probably think we’re going to go fuck in our marriage bed, and they won’t question it.”

Steve frowns. “I said-“

“I know, and frankly I’m tired too. I want you in my arms and nothin else, baby.” Bucky’s smile could light up a room, but Steve is glad that it’s just lighting up for him. He’s a selfish man, but he doesn’t mind.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Alright, I’ll call Tony and Pep to cover and let ‘em know we’re leavin’.”

Tony’s a little tipsy, but Steve relishes the usual scent of expensive perfume and the feeling of expensive silk against his skinny arms like always. “Hi man of honor,” he mumbles into Tony’s shoulder. Tony grips him back just as tight. 

“Leaving early?” Tony quips, rolling his eyes when Bucky growls softly. “Soul mates before bone mates, Bucko. I’m hugging my best friend.”

“Tony,” Pepper chides. “Be nice. It’s sweet.”

Steve grins, leaning against Tony’s shoulder when Bucky flushes red like a schoolboy being completed by his crush. 

“Of course you think it’s sweet,” Tony mumbles. Steve laughs. “You growled at people for weeks after we bonded.”

Bucky gives him a Look, with capital letters. 

“Um, Tony,” Steve says hurriedly. Tony will talk for hours if someone lets him, and Pepper, despite how tough she looked and sounded, was always down to  _ let him _ ; no matter what it was. “Bucky and I are leaving early.”

“What?” Tony looks confused, but when Steve glances over, Pepper looks understanding. 

“Got to be too much?” she asks quietly. 

Steve nods silently. He’s lucky to have such great friends. 

Tony presses a kiss to his cheek softly. “Goodnight, I guess,” he murmurs, and though Tony is the very best friend Steve could ask for, his understanding surprises him in the best way. Tony winks and there goes the surprise, even if he’s completely wrong. “Sleep well.”

Steve rolls his eyes and hooks his hand with Bucky’s. He’ll explain to Winifred and Sarah in the morning. For now, he’s got several episodes of Forensic Files calling his name. 


	12. Day 12: #28, sitting on the same park bench au

The man who sits on the park bench as Steve runs is always frowning. He’s tall. Gangly. Steve has never seen him smile except once with a blond woman, but the way she’d kissed his cheek was so motherly he assumes she’s nothing but a friend, maybe a sibling. 

Steve stretches. His thighs burn as he touches his toes and he vows to himself that he will go to yoga with Nat. Hell, he’ll even deal with all the single women hitting on his gay ass. The man looks at him as he starts to run. 

Steve’s lungs burn as he slows to a walk. His eyes are undeniably watching the man on the bench, but the man makes no attempt to look away. His eyes are sad, that much Steve can tell. In the end, he can’t say what draws him to invite the man to his usual tradition of a donut and a coffee after his run, but he supposed it has something to do with the man’s resemblance to a drowned rat. Drowned in what, Steve has yet to know. 

“Steve,” Steve offers. He sticks his hand out. “Steve Rogers.”

The man’s hands tremble, and Steve starts to worry if the man perhaps has social anxiety or something against handshakes before he sees vicious scarring over the man’s hands. Steve’s not a doctor, but he’d bet his apartment on that being the cause of the shakes. “Stephen,” the man says quietly. His mouth quirks, but not in the way Steve would hope. “I’ll shake your hand, but fair warning, I’m going to be shaking like an addict.”

Steve shrugs. “Doesn’t matter to me.” The man’s hands are warm, but his face is cold and barren, looking like the aftermath of a disaster. His grip is weak, a little bit like a child’s. “It’s nice to meet you, Stephen.” He smiles easily. “Not Steve? Because this’ll get confusin’ real quick.”

“Not Steve,” Stephen says quickly, maybe even indignantly. “But you don’t have to worry about that, Brooklyn.”

Steve’s smile widens, crinkling his eyes. “Good to know, Doc.”

Stephens eyes widen, and then they turn sad. Steve’s starting to understand the devastation in the lines of Stephen’s form, nature’s pen drawing out an image of such beauty, yet such regret. “How did you know?”

Steve points to the thin sweater Stephen is wearing under his other jacket. “It’s from the inner city hospital. My mother worked there until she couldn’t. Brought back a lot of sweaters in her time.”

Stephen looks sadder, somehow. “Good eye.”

“Do you want to go for donuts with me? There’s a place within walking distance, ‘bout two blocks away.” 

Stephen is silent. Steve waits patiently. 

“Why? I hardly know you.” Stephen scowls suddenly, mood changing as quickly as weather changes in the summer. “Maybe I don’t want to.”

Steve’s as friendly as a golden retriever; he’s not going to let a pseudo-rejection stop him. From anybody else, he might entertain the thought that maybe they just don’t like him—not amiss, he can be too much, too outgoing for some people—but Stephen is far too miserable for someone who would be gleeful while rejecting him. For the way he said it, most people take sick joy out of getting rid of people. Stephen sinks into his coat and tucks his devastatingly pretty trembling hands into his sleeves. “If it’s true, I wouldn't mind going,” Steve says. “But—I get the feeling you don’t want that.“

“We really don’t know each other,” Stephen points out, sagging into his sweater and shivering. Steve eyes him; he's still hot from the aftermath of his run and he’d always run hot, but Stephen looks so scrawny even under all those layers that he looks like he’d fall over at a stiff breeze. No wonder he’s shivering. His beard is untrimmed so, and Steve bets that Stephen used to be a proud man. Steve sees no reason why he can’t be anymore. 

“Why can’t we?” Steve waits expectantly. 

Stephen’s smile is much nicer than his frown.

Bucky likes to curse his huge heart, but Steve doesn’t mind the scrapes it gets him into if it pulls him into a dimly lit donut shop and cafe on 12th street, sitting with a new friend.

The next day,  _ Stephen’s  _ lips quirk into a smile on the bench. 


	13. Day 13: #28, knocking on the wrong door au

_ Stupid alpha audacity. Terrifying alpha audacity. _

Steve knocks frantically on the door and shifts from foot to foot, praying Sharon is home. Praying Sharon will understand. The stench of the alpha gets closer. “Honey? Are you home?” He asks tremulously. “I got locked out can you let me in?” 

The alpha that opens the door isn’t Sharon in all her badass glory—it’s a grumpy alpha, his hair dripping wet and his scowl firmly in place. “This isn’t Sharon, you’ve got the wrong—“

Steve’s knuckles are turning white on the bag of his groceries. He checks behind him and he can hear clomping up the stairs after he’d locked the elevator. “Please,” he whispers. “He’s-I don't-“ 

Bucky’s growl makes Steve shake in his oversized sweater. It even covers his ass, he thinks hysterically. Not that it would’ve been okay if he got followed wearing a crop top and booty shorts. 

“Of course. My name's Bucky,” the alpha murmurs before tugging him into a soft t-shirt that entirely belies the hard muscle beneath it. Steve drops his groceries, ignoring the precarious thump of something falling and curls into this stranger, this savior’s chest. “Hey sweetheart,” Bucky says loudly. The footsteps stop at the end of the hall. Steve sniffles. Bucky’s scent turns threatening all at once, and Steve bundles himself into Bucky’s chest with an instinctual whimper. “Aw honey, ah, it’s okay.”

Bucky’s hand comes to curl into his hair. “Hey,” Bucky barks. “You the alpha that’s got my omega in tears ‘cause of a trip to the  _ grocery _ store?” 

“I-um-“ 

Steve shudders, and Bucky’s nose dips into his unruly hair, crooning something softly. Steve settles. 

“I didn’t know he was bonded!” The other alpha shouts before clunking forward again. Jesus Christ, what is he wearing, combat boots? “Hey man, I’m sorry—“

“Not me you need to be apologizing to, asshole! What the hell were ya thinkin’? What? Comin’ in here, forcin’ him?!”

“I didn’t know he was taken!”

“And that makes it okay?!” Bucky snarls and Steve—panics. He makes the most frightening, desperate noise and wiggles and squirms. “Mm- _ ah _ !” He whimpers. “I-I-oh please—“

“Oh sweetheart, sh,” Bucky murmurs and Steve’s fingers gingerly come up to clutch at his shirt, at his arm. “Sh, don’t worry, I didn’t mean to snarl at ya, hon’. No worries darl’, I’ve got you.”

Steve presses his face to the hollow of Bucky’s throat. He couldn’t help it at the snarl, it was a purely instinctive, raw reaction. He hopes Bucky doesn't think he's an airhead. He'd be wrong, and Steve would have no problem proving that he's not, but first impressions matter. 

Above him, Bucky trains his eyes on the strange alpha. “If I ever,  _ ever _ see you in here again, on even this  _ side _ of the street I will  _ fuck you up _ , you understand me?” Bucky growls. “Now get out.”

The footsteps turn from a clunking into a scramble and yet Steve shivers all the same. 

“Hey.” Bucky’s nose brushes at his hair again as Steve whimpers. He’d been so grumpy and unfriendly when he first opened the door, but he was so affectionate against him that Steve couldn’t even bring himself to care. “Are you alright, Steve?”

“How’d you know my name?” Steve asks, wincing when his voice comes out hoarse. He tilts his head up hopefully, and it seems Bucky had the same thought he did as he hurriedly tugs Steve inside his apartment and seating him on his couch. “We’ve never met—Bucky?”

“Childhood nickname,” Bucky confirms, settling himself across from Steve in a comfy-looking recliner after passing him a glass of water. Steve appreciates the show of not crowding him. “But no we haven’t.” He looks sheepish, an expression that looks entirely out of place on a man who looked like he could crush a melon between his thighs. “I-uh-I’m not too good with the new people, an’ when you moved in, I was away on work. I was,” he interrupts himself to shrug. “Too awkward to come meet the pretty omega two doors down. But I heard ’bout you.” He smiles sideways. ”Heard lots about those cookies you made when you moved in.”

Steve flushes despite himself, though he forces himself not to look away like a damsel-in-distress in a bodice-ripper. “I, um. Thanks.”

Bucky smiles warmly at him. “Do you want help getting your groceries?”

Steve appreciates the way that he asks it; if it was any other tone, any other phrasing he’d be flushing red and proud, insisting that despite his skinny stature he could still do something, but Bucky asks like he’s ready for a  _ no _ . In his experience, the world could use some more alphas like that. 

“I would love some help.”


	14. Day 14: anon, 1940s au

“Stevieeeee,” Bucky wheedles. “Cmon. You got promoted to Captain, you don’t think that’s worth celebrating?”

Steve rolls his eyes and doesn’t look up from the map he was examining. “Maybe if there wasn’t a war goin’ on, I’d be happy to go celebrate.”

Dum Dum—Steve hadn’t even realized he was there behind Bucky’s imposing form—snorts. “There’s no point in askin’, Sarge. Just drag ‘im.”

“I-“ Steve starts before  _ shouting _ . “I. BUCKY. PUT ME DOWN THIS INSTANT I WILL NOT  _ AIIIIIIIIEEEE- _ “

Steve is not proud to say the whole camp hears him. 

…

“Buh,” Steve says. 

“Should I shake him?” Falsworth drawls. The omega dancer wags his eyebrows before doing something on high heels that makes Steve choke. His? Ankles? What the fuck. 

“Nah,” Bucky says, knocking back his drink and judging from the harsh squeal, dragging Falsworth and the rest of the guys to go dance. “There’s no point.” 

Steve whines quietly. He’s not wrong entirely, there’s no point in courting this pretty omega when he might be gone within the week—

“Hello,” someone says, tapping his shoulder. Steve turns before making a strangled noise, and he topples out of his chair. The omega stares at him disbelievingly. “Are you okay.”

“Yes!” Steve scrambles to his feet, as graceful as a prepubescent boy next to his mother's china. “I mean—yes!”

“Okay,” the omega says slowly before sticking his hand out cautiously. “I’m Tony. This is my break.”

“I’m-I’m Steve.”

“Steve?” Tony frowns dubiously. “That’s boring.”

“Doll, you can call me whatever you want,” Steve says breathlessly. Tony giggles. Steve wants to bottle the sound up so he can hear it forever. 

“Would you like to dance with me? I'm off for the rest of the night,” Tony asks hopefully. Steve whines sadly, resolving himself to another pretty omega gone ‘cause of his shitty dance skills. Especially a dancer. Shit, there’s probably  _ names _ for the stupid mistakes he’ll make. 

“I’ve got two left feet,” Steve says weakly. “And you’re a dancer.”

“Huh,” Tony makes a thoughtful noise before dipping away in the crowd of tapping feet and whirling skirts. 

Oh. 

Steve looks mournfully into his drink. He wishes he could get drunk. 

A hand comes tapping again in his shoulder. Steve turns, nostrils flaring as he catches vanilla and smoke again. “Tony?” he asks in confusion, awkwardly gripping Tony’s waist when Tony boldly presses between his knees. 

“The band says they’ll play something slow next!” Tony says brightly, sweet and smiling. His painted red lips curl into a smirk. “You can handle that, can’t you handsome?”

Steve stares dumbly. 

True to Tony’s word the music slows to lazy jazz. Steve sees alphas gripping their sweethearts’ waists, a group of omegas giggling loudly as alphas tugged them into the mesmerizing swirl of skirts. 

Tony wilts right before his eyes, and Steve realizes he’s taken far too long to answer. “Oh,” Tony says sadly, looking like a kicked puppy. A fierce-looking redhead makes eyes at him across the dance floor like she’d come take Tony away. “Or-or if you don’t want to dance with me, that’s fine too—“ 

“I WANT TO DANCE,” Steve yelps. He curses himself; he just shouted like an idiot. Oh fuck. 

Tony blinks slowly, eyes wide and doe-like. “You do? I don’t want to fo-“

“You’re not, you wouldn’t,” Steve rushes to say. Such a sweet omega, Steve thinks as Tony tugs impatiently on his hand, much like a puppy yanking at a Doberman. 

For the rest of the night, they turn in small circles in the shaded corner as Steve holds Tony like he’s the most precious thing he’s ever touched. 

  
  



	15. Day 15: anon, Asgard au

“He’s an idiot,” Tony moaned. 

Loki simply raised an eyebrow. “What has Thor done now?”

“Nothing!” Tony buried his face into Loki’s pillow, inhaling the scent of their perfume miserably. “That’s the problem!”

Loki reached out and smacked his ass playfully before crawling childishly across the bed to reach him. Tony pressed his face into the leather of Loki’s ridiculous pants as Loki settled next to him. “Has he driven you so far to madness that you require a revealing skirt and ridiculous underthings?” 

Tony whined, huffing irritably when Loki snapped the waistband of his thong. “Yes.”

Loki sighed. “You’re an idiot,” Loki said somewhat amusedly, irritation and affection lacing their tone. Tony could tell they were rolling their eyes, he didn’t even have to see it.

“I’ve tried everything,” Tony complained finally, flopping onto his back and staring up at Loki’s ceiling. “I’ve been nice, I’ve made him things, I’ve bought him things, I’ve invited him on dates but still...nope!” He tugged at the hem of his skirt. “I really thought this would work.”

“Thor is an idiot,” Loki said wisely. “You might as well smack him across the face and say you wish to court him.”

“But that’s rude! He won’t want to court me then!” Tony moaned dramatically, lifting up just to flop back down like a child throwing a tantrum. 

“Odin’s beard,” Loki groaned before lifting up their pillow to smack Tony with it, not putting a thought into Tony’s obviously pitiful and deserving of sympathy form. He was in delicate condition! Tony just rolled over, letting out a grunt every now and then when Loki got him in the side. “You! Are! An! Idiot!”

Tony stayed resolutely wordless. 

Loki dropped the pillow with a thump. “Could you at least bring this to your own quarters?”

“No,” Tony said to the tone of ‘duh!’. He heard it was a thing people said on Midgard. “You’re just sympathetic enough to bring me food; it’s only deserving that I stay here and evoke as much tear-jerking pampering as possible.”

Then Loki shoved him out of their bed, so Tony presumed that they were all out of ‘tear-jerking pampering’. 

… 

“The skirt,” Thor moaned, face-down in Loki’s bed. 

“Odin’s beard,” Loki sighed again, picking up their pillow for the second time that day. 

…

“So,” Tony said, much much later, after Thor had quite literally tripped and fallen onto Tony’s lips at dinner, after Tony had blinked and Thor pulled him up for another kiss with a groan, and well  _ after _ Thor had dragged him into his quarters and growled-oh goddess. Tony shivered, trailing his fingers up Thor’s bare chest. “Was it the skirt?”

“ _ Sváss _ ,” Thor said patiently, tugging Tony’s lithe form into his bulk. “Do you think so low of me that you think I am purely attracted to-“

“Thor, you are a  _ hoe _ .” Tony patted his shoulder. “An idiot if you will.”

“My love!” Thor yelped, cheerfully taking no offense. “How could you-“

“Pure of heart, dumb of ass,” Tony continued playfully, wagging his eyebrows. “A himbo- _ Thor _ !”

Thor dug his fingers further into Tony’s side, ignoring his squealing and likely inelegant laughter. 

“Dumb of ass, hm,  _ sváss _ ?” Thor hummed, satisfied.


	16. Day 16: anon, ballet au

“Tony,” Steve sighs frustratedly when Tony stops for the third time, the music to the Nutcracker echoing like it's still playing when Steve stops it on Tony’s phone. “It’s just dance. You know it, I know you do, but I can’t approve you for the next renewment of funds if I don’t see it myself.”

Tony wraps his arms around himself and turns to face the wall, away from Steve. He’s only ten feet away, yet Steve can’t go to him and tug him into a hug even as he climbs to his feet. 

Or maybe it’s won’t. 

“If you know I can do it, why can’t you just pay and move on?” 

“Tony,” Steve says. 

Tony stops. Sighs. “You’re making me nervous,” he admits quietly, turning gracefully on his heel and tugging at his hair. Of course it’s graceful; Steve doubts Tony’s done anything ungracefully, Tony and Jim’s college stories be damned. Tony steps up close to him, scent of his deodorant and cologne wafting up. 

Steve breathes in pointedly through his nose, breathes out. “And why is that?”

“Because,” Tony says slowly. “You look at me. Like you are now.” Tony goes up on his pointe shoes until he’s finally eye to eye with Steve, his whiskey-dark eyes staring into Steve’s soul and pulling it out to dance in the sweaty studio with him. 

“Yeah?” The thought that this is moving into an entirely unprofessional relationship is a fleeting one. “And how do I look at you?”

“Kiss me,” Tony says softly, his hands on Steve’s shoulders. His feet must hurt but he stays up. “Please,” he begs softly. 

Tony’s mouth is slack and soft against Steve’s, his body warm against Steve’s cold suit. The suit turns warmer when Tony hurriedly rucks up and wrinkles the heavy sleeves, his soft palms running up Steve’s forearms. 

“I have never wanted anything like I want you,” Tony breathes, a bubbly smile—strange for the slowness and the warmth of the moment—striking Steve’s heart. 

“Oh? Not even ballet school?”

“Well, maybe that,” Tony drops to the flat of his feet, and Steve follows him down, pressing a lingering kiss to Tony’s sweaty brow. “But you got me here, anyway.”

“Your hard work got you here,” Steve points out. The only thing he did was bankroll him. “I just threw money at you and shook old men’s hands for you.”

“The money helped though,” Tony says, laughing for no reason. 

Steve snorts. 

And then they’re both laughing, clutching their stomachs, clutching each other to try and not laugh, their ribs begging for mercy, but for every moment of eye contact wheezing once more. 

Tony’s giggle is the best thing Steve’s ever heard. 

Tony would rather dance to Steve’s laughter than any composition he’s ever heard. 

**Author's Note:**

> hmu on tumblr [@thxngam](https://thxngam.tumblr.com/)!


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